


Sleep some

by Yesilian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 19:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4316982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yesilian/pseuds/Yesilian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How John makes the thoughts in Sherlock's head stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep some

At a quarter to midnight, John gave up. He had already brushed his teeth an hour ago, but then stayed downstairs in case Sherlock would need him. He didn't.

"Try to sleep some tonight," John said with one hand on the door handle, ready to go upstairs and call it a night.

"Yes," Sherlock told him, but John could tell he didn't know what he just agreed to. John waited another few seconds for some kind of acknowledgement, then, nodding to himself in defeat, he said "Good night!" and left. Sherlock didn't answer.

John worried. Sometimes, Sherlock was able to find a balance between the work and whatever his body needed. And sometimes, he didn't, but when John brought it up, he was met with outright hostility. It wore him down, this.

As tired as he was, John couldn't just fall asleep. Usually he read a few pages, that always made him sleepy, so he did that that night too. He had barely been in bed five minutes, when the door to his room opened again. Fearing the worst, John clenched his teeth. But Sherlock hadn't come to fetch him for work.

Instead, Sherlock barely acknowledged him as he started methodically undressing. He fished around in his pockets for spare change and titbits, putting everything on John's dresser. Next he rid himself of his jacket and put it over the chair back by the dresser. Then came his socks, his shirt, lastly trousers. All folded neatly over the chair, without haste. Sherlock swept his eyes a last time over his clothes, looking for creases, standing in only his underwear. Dark pants clashing with his pale skin.

John had put his book away long ago and watched Sherlock undress. He doubted it would ever get old, this revealing of skin, this exposing of the man underneath his armour of fine cloth. His eyes followed Sherlock hands and then Sherlock's way to the other side of the bed where he got under the covers. Sherlock lay on his back, docile, and his eyes were innocently huge as he looked at John for what came next.

It didn't happen very often. John longed to have Sherlock in his bed every night, but it was far from that regular.

"My mind is racing," Sherlock said in a small voice but his eyes were unwaveringly fixed on John. "I have a thousand thoughts chasing each other in my head. It's so _loud_. Sleep is impossible like this." John then knew what he was supposed to do.

"Do you want me to make it stop?" he asked quietly, a bit cutely, as he tucked Sherlock into the blanket and smoothed it down over his chest. Brushing away his hair were it almost fell into his eyes.

"Please."

John nodded once and turned around to open the drawer in his bedside table.

"Turn on your side," he said not looking at Sherlock but hearing him complying by the rustle of the sheets. When John found what he needed and turned back to face the man in his bed, a broad set of naked shoulders caught his eyes. He swallowed around the want and only kissed the well-defined muscles when he had himself under control. What he really wanted to do was bite and leave marks, but Sherlock's skin was too perfect to mar it with feral signs of ownership.

John slipped a hand between Sherlock's legs and pushed the one lying up outwards. In doing so, he noticed that the other man had taken off his pants in the meanwhile. Being such a good man. John hummed into his skin and bit down just a bit, much too little to leave any mark.

His right hand slid under Sherlock's waist and cradled the man against John's chest, but his left hand squeezed lube unto itself and began massaging Sherlock's anus with soft pressure. John kept humming as his free hand roamed the vast expanse of Sherlock's chest.

"I love that I can see your muscles," he muttered into Sherlock's shoulder. "You're so fucking perfectly defined, you're a lesson in anatomy. You're a picture book of myology and I'm the only one to see it." He stroked along the ridges of Sherlock's muscles as he was saying that.

"You always say I'm too thin," Sherlock reminded him quietly. He pressed his bum into John's other hand to urge him to breach him. John slipped two fingers into him and Sherlock gasped.

"You are," John said as if nothing had happened. "I hate that I can count your ribs from sight, but I love how strong you look. You're so lithe, but so strong. You should be a model, you're fucking perfect. I only want to feed you up to give your bones some padding." He slipped a third finger into Sherlock. He felt ready to John.

"Are you ready?" he asked to make sure. Sherlock only nodded.

"Okay, give me a minute here," John told him. He withdrew his fingers to Sherlock's whine and who pushed his arse further into John to find a replacement for the digits. But John was only half-hard yet. He stroked himself until his cock was full of blood and angry red in his hand, and then he put a condom on it. He squeezed some more lube onto his fingers to apply to his cock, and only then did he align it with Sherlock's hole.

"Alright," he warned before he pushed in. John didn't like this position very much. His thrusts would be shallow and frankly exhausting, but it did allow him to hold Sherlock close, kiss him and touch him without putting any weight on him. He was plastered along Sherlock from toe to nose and you couldn't get much closer than that.

Sherlock met him thrust for shallow thrust and moaned. Sherlock was a moaner, a gasper, a groaner, but not a talker or screamer during sex. He kept his words in. His hand found John's on his chest and he intertwined their fingers. Then he went to look for John's other hand on his hipbone and clenched that one, too. Sherlock bowed his head on the pillow to expose his swanlike neck and John latched unto it like a magnet. He loved that neck.

Sherlock could come untouched and he proved it again now. The muscles in his arse, the ones John found so perfect and exciting, clenched and pulled at John until he, too, fell over the edge. His hips kept thrusting into Sherlock, not having got the message that it was over and still seeking to get farther into the warm heat beneath. But at last John lay spent.

This was the advantage of the position he had manoeuvred them into. There was no urgency to get up. John lay heavy against Sherlock and they were both panting desperately, but he wasn't crushing the other man. Letting him feel his weight and the heat of his exercised body without pushing the air out of him.

John's cock deflated and slipped out of Sherlock and in the end that was the sign for John to move. Very carefully he took hold of the condom and threw it away before he took a wet wipe from his bedside table to clean up Sherlock. Sherlock startled at the cold wet sensation, but he shuffled back into John's chest, trusting him to take care of him. This was what John loved the most.

It wasn't the sex, which was great. Which was great to have Sherlock allow John inside of him, and only ever John. It wasn't the intimacy when Sherlock inevitably began to touch John in the afterglow and when he was practically incapable of letting go of John again until something happened to distract him. It was when Sherlock unknowingly but very actively sought John's embrace because he believed himself safe in John's arms and when John felt those beloved muscles relax to putty, when they stopped being alert and ready, because John was there now to protect him and Sherlock didn't need to look out anymore. The inherent trust he placed into John and John alone.

It wasn't very long before Sherlock turned around so he could paint figure eights into the skin on John's back, and after that not long at all before John felt himself slipping into sleep. But it was the few minutes after the orgasm and between Sherlock taking over that John loved the most.

 


End file.
